Bulls

Today is Day 3 of the Bull Removal and Relocation program, a job we do every early August. They've been in with the cows for a little over a month, taking care of business, and now it's time they come home, to rest up and prepare for NEXT June. Yeah, it takes them that long.

As you know, when we move cows, I wear makeup and earrings, because it's good to remind the guys that there is a woman in the mix. It doesn't seem to create any more empathy or leniency, but at least they are reminded. But when I get ready to move bulls, I always think, "It's so I'll look good in the ambulance."

I'll tell you right here and now that I am really scared of bulls. My Dad did a good job of putting the fear of those black devils in me, and I've seen what they can do. They weigh over 2000 lbs, easily, and they don't care if they smash whatever is in their way. Yesterday, one of them shoved another with all his might, and the underdog's leg snapped, in two. Their legs are BIG, like the rest of their bodies, and it just popped like a twig.

We are on 4-wheelers, and there's no protection, to my perception. To the bulls, we are just really irritating flies with wheels. And my father-in-law and husband really and truly expect me to wade in there and show them who's boss. Neither the bull, nor I, are really convinced of that. It's some pretty high adreneline stuff, considering we are in rough country, the bull has the weight and mobility advantage, and knows the pasture better than me. I keep telling myself that I can do long division and he can't, but somehow that's not all that reassuring, the idea of superior intelligence. And if you take a whole person, and divide them up into the parts that a bull could make you, it's less comforting. Perhaps I should look into another example of higher thinking....

And the guys really are not all that worried or concerned, and they are rather amused by the bulls, after they ram them with their 4-wheelers and shout obscenities at them. And they know I'm scared, so that makes it a little more amusing.

My Dad wouldn't let us near the bulls, and I remember him on one occasion, using buckshot on a bull. I have a lot of respect for that man. If I had had a gun yesterday, I think I would've used it. But the job has to be done, and we are down to using women in the mix. It's a hard-won privilege, to be allowed to help with the cows, and I really do love being out there. With the COWS.

So, I see by the clock that the hour has come to face the job. My funeral plans are in the front of my Bible, along with the list of pallbearers and choice of minister. (You laugh; it's true!) I'm going to wrastle the kids into the car and haul them to Grandma's house, and put on my Texas Tech cap and Nutra-lix sweatshirt for courage, and wade in. (That's the best I can do, armor-wise. Sad, sad, sad...)

The Chronicles continue....

*Update: I lived! Unfortunately, the bull with the broken leg did not. There is no way to repair a broken leg on a bull, and we were unable to get him to the sale barn in Miles City. If we had taken him to the sale barn, he would've had to have been able to walk off the trailer on his own power, AND not have a fever, which he almost certainly would've had, in order to sell him through the ring. And we had just taken another lame bull to the packing plant for hamburger, so there was no possible way to salvage the meat. A sad ending for the bull, but I'm glad he isn't hurting anymore. Without being unnecessarily graphic, the leg was only held on by hide. It was awful and this was the right thing to do.

We only have one more bunch of bulls to get, and we're going to wait a few days on them. The guys are working on getting the combine running for harvest, and grain cleaned out of the bins. There's so much tension, because we are teetering at the edge of harvest, and it continues to shower, the hoppers continue to close in, and the crops are ripening unevenly. Without a big heat blast, to finish it up, the crops languish. And every rain lowers the protein in the seed heads, which is the big nutrient, and the higher the protein, the better the money. It's a nail biter, I tell you, this ranching business! More later...